"At his best Jeffreys writes memorable, perturbating prose with an overwhelming sense of menace. The stories stay with the reader, touching something in the psyche that is both troubling and intriguing." Bristol Review of Books.

Tuesday, 29 December 2015

Just because...

My favourite films watched in 2015

1. Frank

2. Ex-Machina

3. Birdman

4. It Follows

5. Lucy

6. Nightcrawler

7. The Martian

8. Kurt Cobain: Montage of Heck

9. Miss America

10 The Hunger Games: Mockingjay Part 2

Favourite novel read in 2015
The Physiognomy by Jeffrey Ford

Some of my favourite short stories I read this year (I include links where the stories are available to read online):

Silence Yourself by Savages
Too often these days rock or indie rock or however you want to describe this kind of music is so careerist and sanitised that it makes me want to vomit. What happened to the days when this kind of music was made by the marginalised, the outsider, the weirdo? These days it feels like it's been co-opted by upper-middle class kids enjoying a gap year as indie-rock stars, and the music they make leaves me cold. I'll take a Kurt Cobain, a Morrissey, a Siouxsie Sioux, a Robert Smith, or a Johnny Rotten, over your Chris Martins of this world any day of the week.

Savages' music feels like a return to the days when music was intelligent and angry. I initially dismissed this album as some kind of weird hybrid of Joy Division and Siouxsie and the Banshees but the more I listened the more it drew me in. My favourite tracks: She Will, I Am Here, and Shut Up.

I can now reveal that my novelette, The Wilds, will appear in the anthology 'Dark Little Dreams' from Bad Dream Entertainment, due to be released in March 2016. There are a few familiar names in the table of contents who I'm especially pleased to be appearing alongside. I'd like to give a huge thank you to editor Brett Reistroffer for selecting my story for inclusion. The book is available for pre-order now. You can find out more in the Bad Dream Entertainment website.

Wednesday, 9 December 2015

With only a handful of short stories to her name (only four that I'm aware of) Micaela Morrissette is fast becoming one of my favourite weird fiction writers.

The Familiars is a beautifully written and perfectly judged
tale of a mother vying for her son against the imaginary friends who keep
appearing from under his bed. The great
thing about this story is that there is so much detail and such ambiguity that
it can be read and enjoyed anew again and again with the reader noticing
different things each time. I’ve read
The Familiars about five times now and I still haven’t quite grasped what’s
actually going on in this tale. Are the
boy’s friends real or only imaginary?
There does seem to be some sort of magic going on. In one scene the mother visits her dead
husband’s grave, then goes to a stream and casts away some of his belongings. Yet we are never told why. This made me wonder if the friends are
actually the father returning in a different form, and this was the mother’s
way of trying to be rid of him/them. Or
perhaps the story is about the mother’s attempts to reign in her son’s
imagination before he starts school and enters the real world. Or perhaps it’s merely about loss and
mourning, and the ways that people deal with it. That’s the beauty of this story, it seems
designed to make you ponder and speculate; an approach which in the wrong hands
could simple frustrate the reader, but here it keeps you coming back again and
again to re-read. If I had to describe
this story with one word it would be: enchanting.

Find it: The New Black anthology by Richard Thomas; The Weird anthology by Ann and Jeff VanderMeer

Also recommended by the same author : Porn and Revolution in
the Peaceable Kingdom

Set in a future world where animals have out-evolved human
beings, Porn…tells the story of Tim, a lonely sentient slime mould who works in
Wall-Mart and whose only source of companionship is his pet human, Fifi. The story follows Tim’s frustrations as he
tries on-line dating (with a Parrott!), attempts to keep Fifi from mating, and
tries to find some sense of purpose in life.
Essentially, this is a tale of modern-day living with a twist. Projecting it into an animal-ruled future
allows the story to be both humorous (the scene where Tim comes home one day to
find Fifi rutting on top of a neighbour’s car was a laugh out loud moment for
me), and thought-provoking. Some people
have and will object to one scene near the end of the story, but for me this
was a very enjoyable read. Again,
Morrissette delivers with her exquisite writing and fantastic world-building
skills.

Wednesday, 2 December 2015

I am pleased to have had my short story, No Other, included in the Outliers of Speculative Fiction anthology edited by L.A. Little. Out now!

No Other is a sci-fi/horror mix and concerns two people - Dawn and Nishi - lone survivors of a deadly disease which has decimated mankind. The theme of the story is a familiar one in my work - the increasingly mad lengths people will go to when they fall in love. I won't dwell too much on No Other here, as I'd like to discuss some of the other stories in the anthology. All the stories in the book were of a high-standard, and I thoroughly enjoyed reading them. Each story offered something new and surprising. Here, though, are some of my favourites:

Stepping On Sand & Gods by Cory Skerry gets things off to a fine and unexpected start. This is an excellent magic-realist tale set in a South American desert littered with lost gods, and where an expectant mother goes to birth her child in honour of ancient traditions. This leads to the mother encountering some of those immortal beings and having to fight not only for her own life but that of her newborn baby. I found this a convincing, beautifully-written tale; enigmatic but satisfying.

When We Go Flying by Kama Post is another enjoyable story; although as a frequent-flyer myself I found it equally disturbing. The author imagines air travel as are place where travellers no longer sit politely in their seats for the duration of the flight, but instead indulge in all manner of debauchery. In this tale, the sky is a consequence free zone, and all is forgiven and forgotten - even death and destruction - once the plane touches down on the runway. This is a well-written story that grips the reader. I was also impressed by the way this female author managed to write such a convincing male first person narrator.

Somnambulant by L.A Little is a clever take on the idea of a dealer who can't help getting high off his own supply. The dealer in this case is The Sandman, the supply being the grains of sand he doles out to make people sleep. Horrified by the brutal realities of human life and hurting from a failed love affair, The Sandman turns to his own stash for solace. There was an emotional resonance to this story. I found this tale both thought-provoking and oddly moving.

Meanwhile on a Different Earth by Anya Penfold is a tale about people forced to make bombs taking the threat of apocalypse into their own hands. Though a quick read, this carries a strong message and left me with a smile on my face.

Wednesday, 25 November 2015

Wingstroke
is a fabulously strange and over-looked piece of weird fiction from a writer,
of course, not usually associated with the horror or speculative genres.

It concerns
a man named Kern who, reeling from the suicide of his wife, finds himself at a
European ski resort where everything appears to be loaded with meaning and
coincidence. There is also a touch of
the fantastical about his surroundings, aswell as with his fellow skiers. Marooned in the hotel, he notices himself
being watched by ‘some pale girl with pink eyebrows’, and at dinner he
encounters a ‘man with goat eyes’; whilst his creepy acquaintance, Monfiori, is
described as having ‘pointed ears, packed with canary-coloured dust, with
reddish fluff on their tips.’ Kern
appears to have entered a new reality, one where when it snows the hotel seems
to ‘float upwards’. The perfect setting
then for a supernatural encounter.

Also at the
hotel is Isabel – known about the resort as ‘Airborne Isabel’ - an attractive and
popular young woman whom Kern befriends and quickly becomes obsessed with. She inhabits room thirty-five, the room next
door to Kern’s, thirty-five also being Kern’s age. Much to Kern’s disbelief, Isabel likes to
stay out on the slopes after dark, leaping, as she says, ‘right up to the
stars’ and encountering who-knows-what in the snowy darkness.

One night, unable to sleep, Kern hears guitar
music, laughter and strange barks coming from Isabel’s room. The next night – drunk, half-crazed, and
suicidal himself – Kern notices that Isabel’s key has been left in the
door. What Kern does next, bursting into
the room and telling Isabel that he needs her love, sets off the chain of bizarre
and unexplained events which reach their sad conclusion the next day when
Isabel takes part in a skiing competition.

The
sudden, although in no way jarring, intrusion of the supernatural into this
story is what, for me, makes it such a great read. There’s a chance, obviously, that what Kern
encounters in Isabel’s room could be a figment of his increasingly unhinged
mind. Told in vivid and descriptive
prose and packed with unsettling imagery, Wingstroke is one of the finest weird
fiction tales I’ve read.Find it: The Stories of Vladimir Nabokov.

Friday, 2 October 2015

I was very excited to see that my flash fiction story, The Well, was mentioned in Ellen Datlow's recommended reading list for Best Horror of the Year Volume 7. The Well has been published in a number of places, most recently in the 'Whispers From the Abyss' anthology from 01 Publishing. It can also be found in my collection 'Bones in the Meadow and Other Weird Tales'.

Friday, 14 August 2015

Most serious writers of short horror fiction avoid writing
about vampires like, well, like vampires avoid sunlight. The vampire is an easy trope to reach
for. Most short fiction markets these
days stipulate NO VAMPIRES, WEREWOLVES OR ZOMBIES UNLESS GIVEN A NEW AND
INTERESTING TWIST, or words to that affect.
As for sparkly vampires…we won’t even go into that! Having been scared shitless by the movie
version of ‘Salem’s Lot when I was about eleven years old, I’ve always had a
soft spot for the old garlic-dodgers. I’ve
even written a handful of vampire stories myself – a few of which I’ve
published, and others which I’ve deemed too derivative to see the light of day
(see what I did there?). Occasionally,
you do come across a short story which manages to give vampires a new breath
of life (and again?). Below are five of
my favourite vampire tales.

Sit the Dead by
Jeffrey Ford.

Ford – in typical fashion - essentially reinvents the
vampire mythos for his own ends here, with a tale of a young man getting
embroiled with the wrong kind of family.
This story walks a line between humour and horror.

Find it: Crackpot
Palace by Jeffrey Ford

Endless Night by
Barbara Rodin

Set in the world of 19th century Antarctic exploration,
Rodin’s vampire tale is heavy on atmosphere and suggestion like an
old-fashioned ghost story. Her vampire
is a weary soul looking for a way out.

Find it: Northwest
Passages by Barbara Rodin

Let the Old Dreams
Die by John Ajvide Lindqvist

A short story sequel to Let The Right One In, this was the
last story I can remember reading that had me checking all doors and windows
were locked before I went to bed.

Find it: Let The Old
Dreams Die by John Ajvide Lindqvist.

The Drifting Snow by
August Derleth

The second time I read this I was surprised at how clunky
the writing style was, though on first read I was totally drawn into this tale
of a family gathering and the beckoning ghouls outside in the falling snow.

Find it: The Penguin Book of Vampire Stories by Alan Ryan

Sunbleached by Nathan
Ballingrud

Joshua discovers a vampire hiding from the sun in the crawl
space under his house, and decides he wants to be a vampire too. Can he trust this creature of the night?

Tuesday, 28 July 2015

My attempts to writer longer works have finally born fruit. I have a new novelette, The Foundering, available for kindle. This is a story of self-discovery, with sci-fi overtones.

When Leighton Anderson accepts the role of caretaker to the Dabney Accelerator – a machine owned by his employer and situated in an isolated part of the world – he expects to spend a year in isolation. Unbeknownst to him, there are others living apart from the world who have their own reasons for seeking solitude. It won’t be long before the two worlds collide and the lives of all involved become irretrievably altered.

The Foundering is a thought-provoking novelette concerning one man’s attempts to make sense of his ordered life, and the temptation he feels to seek an entirely new approach to living.

Saturday, 18 July 2015

"A barren land of salt and snow; a castle where underground paths twist and turn in endless circles and a reclusive king who has not shown his face in years; a forest where few things are what they seem. An unnamed hero must navigate through these places as he takes on the task of tracking down a supposed witch, in a story that blends dream and reality, rumor and truth, danger and hope."

Louis
Rakovich is an extremely promising writer emerging in the horror/dark fantasy
field.I’ve been lucky enough to secure
his excellent short story, There Used to be Places, for the Dark Lane
Anthology: Volume Two.This led me to
checking out some of his other work.He’s already had work published in Devilfish Review, Firewords
Quarterly, and Goldfish Grimm, amongst others.He's also recently launched his novelette, The End of the Trail, onto
the world which I was eager to read.

I wasn’t
disappointed.The only criticism I have
of this story is that I wanted it to be longer.There are more original ideas and imagery in The End of the Trail than
some authors put into a full-length novel, and the author could easily have
fleshed it out if he’d wanted to.Having
said that, the story’s brevity gives it a haunting quality that leaves the
reader wondering about this world they've been given a glimpse of and the
characters who populate it.

The story
tells of the unnamed narrator who lives and works in a salt mine, until being summoned by the queen and told he’s the
only man who can save the dying king.To
do this he must track down the witch who the queen believes has put a curse on
her husband.This mission takes him on a
strange dreamlike journey.

The End of
the Trail reads like a dark, adult fairytale.Though short, it’s packed with tiny details which bring the world and
its people to vivid life.The
author shows an admirable knack for ‘world-building’ and fills his tale with striking
and memorable imagery.I especially liked
this:

“As I
fought to stay awake, her eyes were looking at me like the eyes of an animal in
the dark.They were still there when I
drifted off.”

A quick,
enjoyable read; and a writer worth keeping an eye on for the future.

The meaning of Birdman is open to interpretation, and that’s what I think is so great about it, but also what divides opinion about it.It doesn’t leave the viewer with any real answers.Things are not wrapped up in a neat little bow at the end.Is it a film about mental illness?Is it about a man who once played a superhero who then discovers he has actual superhero powers?Is it just about the self-obsession of those involved in the film and theatre world?Well, yes.It’s about all these things.And that’s the problem.

The first time I watched it I thought it was about a man having a mental breakdown, and I was confused by the ending (or, if you prefer, the multiple endings).On a second viewing I noticed details I hadn’t spotted the first time around and I saw the film in a more positive light.It seemed to be to be about a man who risks everything to take a great leap into the unknown (as Riggan, Michael Keaton’s ageing Hollywood actor, does both literally and metaphorically throughout the film) only to discover he can fly (again, in aliteral and metaphorical sense).It’s about taking risks in life, staking everything, even if the odds are stacked against you, and coming out a success (if a little damaged).This interpretation made more sense for me.Suddenly the ending seemed like a metaphor for the entirety of the film that had preceded it.I could be wrong, but I’ll settle on that one for now.

The film has a lot of ambition – with great performances from Keaton and the rest of the cast, lots of memorable quotable dialogue, and a seamless flow (only 16 visible cuts) that pulls us into the film as if we’re watching the scenes unfold in real life.It’s a film that can be watched again and again, with the viewer noticing different things each time.In time I have no doubt it will be considered a classic.

Tuesday, 14 July 2015

If you’re anything like me, you’ll have pictures in your photo album of
people you don’t like. Remember that work leaving-do when that guy from
accounts snuck into the picture and put his arm around you? You always hated
that guy, didn’t you? Yet there he is in your photo album along with all your
friends and loved ones.

What I recommend doing to resolve this unfortunate
issue is this. Cut out the heads of celebrities from magazines and paste them onto your photographs
over the heads of the people you’d rather forget you once knew. Then when
you’re looking at your photos, instead of remembering Dave from accounts and
how much you hated him, instead you’ll go: Oh look, it’s me and all my friends.
Oh and Jennifer Anniston.

NB: WHAT TO DO IF THE ONLY CELEBRITY HEAD AVAILABLE IS KERRY KATONA

If the only celebrity head you have available is Kerry Katona, don’t worry,
all is not lost. What I suggest doing in this eventuality is pasting
Kerry Katona’s head over YOUR OWN head. Then when you look at your photos,
you’ll go: Oh look, there’s Dave from accounts. And he’s got his arm around Kerry
Katona! I always knew he was a moron, and here’s the proof!

I'm an avid collector of old, illustrated book covers and this is one of my favourites. I love this illustration where we see Lady Groan's white cats swarming over a statue in the foreground, then in the distance - recognisable by the various physical attributes Peake attributed to them - we glimpse Fuschia, Flay, Nannie Slagg and baby Titus himself (in Nannie Slagg's arms).

Sadly since I no longer have the book this cover was attached to I don't know the publication date or the name of the cover artist.

I’ve been a fan of Patrick Duff since his days as lead singer of indie band Strangelove. I can remember buying the CD single version of ‘Is There A Place?’ for 20p in my local record shop simply because I was intrigued by its vaguely disturbing cover featuring shrink-wrapped shop manikins. This single was to have an impact on me that belied its knock-down bargain-bin price. When I listened to the a-side’s ten-minute onslaught of feedback-drenched guitars, screams and howls of displacement; plus the acoustic b-side ‘The King of Somewhere Else’, I knew I’d found a band who were speaking directly to me.

Patrick Duff and his music would be a fixture in my life from then on. Some of the best gigs I witnessed during my University years at the end of the 90s – and I witnessed a lot – where by Strangelove at Leeds Duchess. Some years later, the upheaval of my move to Bristol in 2003 was sweetened by the discovery that the lost frontman was doing gigs locally. These included some memorable concerts in the chapel in Arnos Vale Cemetery, when I got shivers when Patrick launched into ‘Dead Man Singing’ and I could have sworn there were more people in the chapel that could actually be seen.

Around the time of my relocation, the rather patchy debut solo album ‘Luxury Problems’ was released by Harvest Records. It showed that Patrick was still angry, still full of self-hate and bile. Things changed with 2010’s brilliant self-released follow up ‘The Mad Straight Road’ which the singer described as “a synthesis of some of the music that has shaped my life – stuff like Disney soundtracks, The Beatles, The Kinks, Bob Dylan, Nick Cave and Johnny Cash – it all went right into the heart of me and came back sounding like this”. Patrick now sounded more at ease with himself. More forgiving. Happier even. He seemed to have wrestled some of his demons down.

In 2013 ‘Visions of the Underworld’ arrived. The shrieks and howls of Patrick’s Strangelove days were now long gone, replaced by a contained unease and a quiet sense of wonder at the world. Recorded completely live in a cottage in deepest Dartmoor so that the sounds of the surrounding wilderness can be heard on some of the tracks, this is an album Duff has described as a collection of ghost songs. Spooky second song ‘Julie of the Rose’ would certainly fit that bill. With its opening couplet “Your touch is on my skin so cold/Your kiss is on my lips like winter snow” this could be a love song to a ghost, or even to death itself. Death, it seems, is never far from Patrick’s mind, and is especially prevalent on this album. Although it might seem oddly placed so near the start of the album, ‘Julie of the Rose’ sets the spooked tone for the rest of the album perfectly. The album actually opens with rooster crows and a calm air of warm acoustic guitar for ‘Danny Freeman’. The song is about a former drunkard and womaniser who’s been written-off but is now returning, having learnt from all his previous misdeeds and now speaking of a ‘treasure that can’t be sold’. Could this be Duff’s alter-ego? ‘Henry James’ seems to concern a similar figure who takes a stand against greed and land-ownership (I could be wrong) and features some beautiful guitar playing and singing from Patrick, with birds tweeting in the background. ‘Jesus’ is another gorgeous song musically, but the lyrics – a more straight-faced version of Morrissey’s ‘I Have Forgiven Jesus’ – threaten to tilt the song into self-parody. It’s this lack of humour, or arch seriousness, which is this album’s occasional undoing.

There are three songs on this album which, in my opinion, match anything by Patrick’s heroes Nick Cave, Tom Waits, Johnny Cash and Leonard Cohen and which create the backbone of the record. These are ‘The Thought Birds’ (released as a single in 2014), ‘Hail Holy Mother’, and ‘Midnight Garden’. It’s on these songs that Patrick’s poetry and lovely lilting guitar playing comes into sharp focus. ‘The Thought Birds’ is mesmerising with its hushed tone of disquiet. Played live, this song would usually end with a barrage of ear-splitting feedback, but here it needs so such adornment to unsettle the listener. ‘Hail Holy Mother’ picks up a familiar theme in Duff’s work: the enslavement of romantic love and his hatred and fear of the capitalist rat race. ‘Hail Holy Mother,” he sings, “as I rise to work each day. All of your loving is the price I have to pay.” ‘Midnight Garden’ is perhaps the album’s standout track, a haunting and sad tale of unrequited love.

Of the remaining tracks, ‘The Man Downstairs’ and ‘The Luckiest Man I Know’ are a little throwaway and continue the themes found in earlier songs. The album ends on a high note, though, with the same warm sounds and air of calm on which it was ushered in. ‘Flowers On My Grave’ is a kind of inverted version of Terry Jacks’ ‘Seasons in the Sun’. Instead of ‘Goodbye, Papa, it’s hard to die’ the narrator instead gives thanks for all the people and things that have contributed to his life. “Thank you for the love that’s lighted up my way. That’s something that I always meant to say.” When a close family member of mine passed away in 2013, it was to this song that I turned for solace, wherein Duff manages to make death sound joyful by forcing the listener to look back in gratitude rather than at the fact that, as he sings towards the end, we are ‘out of time, out of time, out of time’.

Overall this is a truly majestic songset which demonstrates how Patrick Duff is just beginning to harness his considerable talents and insights. If it reminds me of anything, it is Paul Simon’s 60s solo album ‘The Paul Simon Songbook’; and with his own songbook this rich Duff is beginning to eclipse his early stab at fame with Strangelove and prove himself to be amongst the greatest singer songwriters out there. When I shook his hand after a very intimate gig a few years ago, I was as starstruck as I would have been had I been meeting someone like Morrissey or Nick Cave, such is the hold Patrick Duff’s music has had over me since I first shelled out that measly 20p for a three track single by a band I’d never heard of.

Jean-Marc Vallee's ‘Café De Flore’ is one of
my favourite speculative films of recent years.Written and directed by Vallee, who also directed the
critically acclaimed Dallas Buyer’s Club, the film is a masterpiece of
sustained tension and intrigue, with fragmentary elements that fit together
like a Chinese puzzle to create a beautiful, moving cinematic experience.

The speculative
elements in the film are subtle and don’t really come into force until the end;
although there are very brief and occasional ‘horror’ moments, included perhaps
as red herrings as the film never veers down that particular path.In fact, you could even argue that the film
is not speculative at all.On first
watch, it is a baffling film for most of its length; having two story threads
set forty years apart which appear to have no obvious connection to each
other.

In one
thread, Kevin Parent is Antoine, a successful modern-day DJ who has recently
separated from his wife, Carole (played by Helene Florent), and now living with new flame, Rose (Evelyn Brochu)who he believes is his soul
mate.The people close to Antoine,
including his two daughters and his parents, are struggling to adjust to the
breakup of this twenty-year relationship that began when Antoine and Carole
were teenagers.Least able to cope is ex-wife
Carole, who is sleepwalking and suffering nightmares of a ‘little monster’
glimpsed in the back seat of her car.

The second
thread concerns Jacqueline (Vanessa Paradise), a young mother in 1960’s Paris whose husband leaves
her after the birth of their Down’s Syndrome son, Laurent (Marin Gerrier).Jacqueline is besotted with Laurent and committed
to finding ways to extend his life beyond the expected twenty-five years.Her story turns darker after Laurent bonds
with a girl at his school who also has Down’s and who he quickly becomes inseparable
from.

Café De
Flore is a film that shouldn’t work.The
timeline is all over the place.Besides
the two threads, we also have flashbacks to Antoine and Carole falling in love as
teenagers.These three elements
constantly shift, merge, overlap, and mirror each other, as if all three are
happening at once.Also, the film’s
slightly corny theme of soul mates, destiny, and love ‘written in the stars’
could easily have derailed it.Yet this
never happens.On first watch, I
genuinely had no idea where it was going and the denouncement, when it came,
left me stunned.The film only begins to
reveal itself towards the end when Carole visits a medium in order to make sense
of her nightmares.Watching it a second
time, I could see how all the pointers were laid bare – almost to a glaring
degree – and I wondered how the film could ever have kept me guessing.Of course, I now had the benefit of
hindsight, and it’s worth mentioning that because of the film’s twist ending it
didn’t really stand up to a second viewing, unless you want to unpick the tiny
embedded details and clues.The only
mis-step for me was the unnecessary Amelie-esque voiceover at the beginning,
which a number of French films have used in recent times perhaps in an attempt
to align themselves with that particular film’s huge international success.

The acting
is excellent throughout, and Paradise in
particular shines as the dowdy, exhausted single-mother spiralling into
jealousy and defeat.The film also has a
great, pivotal soundtrack, including songs from The Cure, Sigur Ros (who provide
the film with one of its lighter, funnier moments) and Pink Floyd.

Café de
Flore’s final shot, in which the camera zooms into a photograph, is as powerful
as the similar device used by Kubrick at the end of The Shining (in fact it may
even be a homage, or if you prefer a
theft, from that film).Though the
intent is not to scare, it is a shocking moment in which all the film’s
connections and symbols and clues suddenly come to the fore.Of course, as with any twist-ending film,
there will inevitably be those people who jump up and say they knew what was
going on from the beginning.To those
people I doff my cap, whilst at the same time feeling a bit sorry that they
couldn’t enjoy this ride to the end.Café
de Flore, then.Leave your cynicism at
the door.

Browsing in my local secondhand bookshop this weekend, I discovered this copy of Angela Carter's short story collection, 'Fireworks' from 1974. Despite the embarrassment at having to take this to the till, I had to have it. I love the absurdity of it. This misogynistic sci-fi slave girl cover image would seem to be completely at odds with how we think about Angela Carter today, as a literary rather than a genre writer, and as a feminist. I can only imagine what the unsuspecting reader thought when
he read the nine 'profane pieces' within after buying the book based on the cover.

Publishers in the 1960s and 70s were more than happy to try and sell any book - from Moorcock to Ballard to Garcia Marquez - not on it's own merits, but simple by shoving a pair of tits on the cover.

Having said that, I do love this cover's design, the colours and the stylised way the jungle surrounding the two figures has been depicted. I'm not overly keen on the text.

As a long time Smiths/Morrissey fan I was excited to get my hands on this book, and largely it doesn’t disappoint. I would go so far as to say that this is one of the most incredible books I have ever read.

It’s not your typical autobiography, so much so that for the first page or so it completely threw me. The account of his early years and the rise of The Smiths are full of sadness, wit, tenderness and betrayal. His description of his school days, and the vile bullying teachers of St Mary’s, is particularly effecting; almost like something written by Mervyn Peake. He obviously had some scores to settle and you get the impression that years of silence have finally found an outlet. There are some targets you wouldn’t expect, whilst others who have since done him wrong are discussed with tenderness. It does occasionally descend into bitchiness, and there are a few roll your eyes moments as Morrissey storms out of restaurants because someone at his table has had the audacity to order meat. Yet he seems fully aware of his own shortcomings. What really comes through in this book, especially the first third, is his compassion for those around him; and his hurt and bewilderment at the various betrayals (either real or perceived it is difficult to say). There’s a lot of humour too, some of it tongue in cheek, which I think a lot of people will miss. There’s even a mini ghost story which takes place on Saddleworth Moor which is so well described that it could keep you awake at night like it did me.

Unlike other reviewers I actually found the section dedicated to the court case fascinating as Morrissey builds a very strong case for his own persecution at the hands of the establishment. I felt that this was an important point, and I don’t blame Morrissey for dwelling on it. He basically laughs at the idea of free speech existing in England. This is a man who’d previously taken pot shots at royalty and Margaret Thatcher, so it’s easy to believe that they wanted to bring him down. And why did the case focus on Morrissey rather than the Morrissey & Marr partnership?

I got the impression Morrissey wrote this over many years as the front and end sections feel almost as if they were written by different people. For me the end section felt flat, and slightly smug, where Morrissey details his comeback starting with You Are the Quarry. This was where the book started to lose its grip on me. You can see how he wanted to bring the story full circle and show how all his trials paid off in the end. At one point he describes how, on stage in Manchester, he can see the building where he once worked in the basement as an Inland Revenue clerk which rounds off his story quite well. The endless details of shows and cities and hotels, though, felt a little empty as if it were only required to fill up the word count.

Ultimately, though this is the story of Morrissey, it is so packed with wisdom and insight that it is lifted above mere autobiography and becomes something akin to The Bell Jar. Anyone merely looking for revelations will miss what makes this a great book. It is the story of a misfit boy who wanted to sing, went through various trials along the way, fought and fought and fought and fought to follow his dream, did it all his way, and came out a winner in the end.